Damnation
by ikhor
Summary: An image of her pressing her fingertips to his temple, forgiving every sin, slowly erasing every stain that marked his soul. It haunted his dreams, a wish forever burned in his mind. He seemed to have a knack for craving things that he couldn’t have.


Damnation

Disclaimer: Not mine.

AN: This one took me forever to finish. I started it over five months ago, but had to keep coming back to it. I didn't want to force myself to complete it in one sitting. I had so much trouble with the title! Gack, thinking about it just gives me a headache.

The meeting had only ended five minutes ago, but almost everybody was gone. Only two people remained. She had stayed behind to clean up the tea that she had spilled. Her back was to him, and humming merrily away she didn't notice his presence. It was a change in routine, as he seemed to be attached to a dark cloud that whispered and hissed evil things. Things people couldn't hear, things they felt instead. Dismayed at her lack of detection, pleased at her lack of detecting him, he wasn't sure what to do.

"Nymphodora"

The name was out before he realized it, and almost immediately he wished he had said 'Tonks' instead. Her first name felt awkward and heavy on his tongue, and he assumed it felt awkward and heavy on her ears. As luck would have it, her cup was empty, so no more tea spilled. As things seemed to always go horribly wrong for him anyway, she dropped it. The dull shattering almost covered up her gasp, and as she stood there, her mouth open in an 'O' of surprise, and her hand over her heart, he felt a slight pang of jealousy. Her heart, he imagined was beating heavily. He could practically hear, could practically feel the dull pounding. God, he wished his own heart would make a sound. Most nights, he couldn't even feel it.

"Professor Snape." Her voice was faint, a blush gracing her cheeks. He had to hold back a scathing remark on her ability as an auror, or rather her inability. Couldn't she even sense a dark wizard two feet behind her? Or was her innocence that blinding?

"Please, Nymphodora. I haven't been your Professor in years. Call me…" and here he hesitated. What could she call him? What would she be willing to call him?

"I'll call you by your first name, if you call me by my last." A half smile was present on her features, and a look of surprise must have been on his, because her smile got a bit wider. Not sure what to do with himself, no female had been that close to smiling at him in years, he pointed his wand at the ground and muttered a cleaning spell.

"Good idea. It was an ugly cup anyway." She was almost smiling at him again. Mostly out of his fear that he might almost-smile back, he cleared his throat. Time to ask her, time to get to the point of this whole awkward meeting.

"I need you to do me a….favor." A favor wasn't really the word he was looking for, but what word could explain what he wanted? Her brown eyebrows rose to her bright pink hair, and he idly wondered if she meant them to be brown. Her stance had become slightly defensive, and although he had enjoyed the slightly relaxed atmosphere before, it really was better this way.

"Sure, Severus. I can try." Her voice remained casual, and for that he was glad. He liked the way she said his name. Slowly he pulled out a faded photograph from his pocket, and just as slowly handed it to her. Her defensive stance became even more pronounced, and her brown eyebrows narrowed. He was surprised she understood what he was asking, as he hadn't said anything at all.

"Snape, if this is some sick fantasy, you can forget about it." The last name hurt, but things were back in routine. People always expected the worse from him, and he supposed it was his own fault.

"No, it's not. Tonks, I promise you it's not." Perhaps it was her last name, or maybe she just pitied him. But after an eternity packed into a couple of seconds, she nodded stiffly. She didn't say another word, and after he had told her the place she walked out without looking back.

He was at the park, where they were supposed to meet. A slight crunch alerted him of her arrival. His breath rushed out of his lungs in one huge 'whoosh' . She stood there, uncertainly, no smile or frown. Just blank, emotionless. But, gods she was beautiful. Pale as the moon that enveloped her, fire surrounding her like a halo. He wanted to touch her, hold her, love her, promise her everything in the world. Even though he had nothing he could give her, nothing she would want. It was all just a cruel illusion bright and misleading in the beauty of her face, the sweetness of her innocence. But not so innocent anymore, he reminded himself. He had tainted her, should be glad she made it out before she got in too deep.

He had tried everything to lure her back in, to receive her forgiveness. An image of her pressing her fingertips to his temple, forgiving every sin, slowly erasing every stain that marked his soul. It haunted his dreams, a beautiful wish forever burned in his mind. He seemed to have a knack for craving things that he couldn't have, that were never really his in the first place. His hand seemingly of its own accord reached up stopping an inch from her lips. Her eyes stared accusingly now, daring him to touch her.

It was that more than anything that sent him crashing. His euphoria slipping away so suddenly he wasn't sure that it was even there. This wasn't her, this wasn't the object of his desire. This was an image. An illusion. And just as it was in the mirror, a thin layer of glass was his barricade. No matter how hard he tried, ignoring the pitying eyes of the headmaster, he couldn't get through.

The moon was setting now, the old swings creaking slightly in the faint breeze. It swept gently over his face, lightly tossing any strands of black hair that covered his eyes. Small touches that tortured him, giving him a clear view of the beautiful creature standing before him. It gave her a clear view of him as well. All shields down, he could never block himself off when he was with her. No matter how fake she may be. His vision became slightly blurry, almost crying but not quite. He hadn't cried since the night of his undoing. It seemed like a punishment, lord knows he deserved it. Terrible sadness built up in him at times, overwhelming unhappiness. He couldn't cry, couldn't let it out. So it built up inside him, no where to go. So it stayed. It seems, that even now, he couldn't show that one sign of humanity. Of sadness, of utter _feeling. _

Perhaps he wasn't meant to show feeling. Maybe he was supposed to be tortured inside, no one to turn to but himself. Cursed with damnation the second he was born. Even when he spoke the word, the word that meant everything to him, that was his essence and being, that he lived for, it came out dead.

"Lily."

It appeared that the devil liked to toy with him.

AN: Ok, did you get it? Did you like it? Some parts of it I felt were a bit forced, so I might do some revisions later.


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